


A Little Beer And A Lot Of Nonsense

by siriusblue



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Karaoke, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 07:58:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18517240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriusblue/pseuds/siriusblue
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley visit the village pub one evening where Aziraphale gets a surprise.





	A Little Beer And A Lot Of Nonsense

**Author's Note:**

> Sir Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman both said that Aziraphale and Crowley retired to Sussex Downs after the Near Apocalypse. I'd like to think they had many evenings like this.

A LITTLE BEER AND A LOT OF NONSENSE

  
  
  


Aziraphale smiled to himself as the taxi pulled up outside the old stone cottage he currently called home. Crowley's Bentley was parked in its usual haphazard fashion further along and the angel felt a tiny twinge of guilt at how long he had spent in London.

 

He settled the fare without complaint and added a generous tip, the unseen part being a tiny miracle to alleviate the cab driver's irritating skin condition.

 

Wishing he had three arms, Aziraphale gathered up his heavy packages and juggled them as he unlocked the cottage door with a touch,  wriggled through the doorway and placing them carefully on the hall table to be dealt with later.

 

The cottage was disturbingly quiet.

 

“Hello? Crowley? I'm home.”

 

There was no reply nor was there any sign of his partner in the living room or the kitchen.

 

“I wasn't away  _ that  _ long,” muttered Aziraphale crossly.

 

The kettle was still warm which meant Crowley wasn't far away and it dawned on Aziraphale where he must be.

 

Grumbling, the angel changed out of his handmade shoes and into a deeply unattractive pair of wellingtons and went out into the garden.

 

When they had first moved there the cottage garden had contained a modest greenhouse but, under Crowley's demonic care, what stood there now could be defined as an arboretum by any five eminent botanists you cared to name.

 

The wet heat and jungly atmosphere hit Aziraphale like a smack in the face as he gingerly opened the door. Behind a stand of verdant lianas he heard Crowley talking to one of his prized yuccas.

 

“Not trying at all, Stephen, are you?”

 

Aziraphale heard the crunch of gravel underfoot as Crowley moved around.

 

“Look at your friends. Look how green and healthy they are. You don't want to end up in the compost heap, now do you? You've got a week, mate. Don't let me down.” 

 

Aziraphale had reached him by that time.

 

“Putting the fear of God into your plants again, my dear?” he asked, kissing the demon on the cheek and ignoring Crowley's theatrical wince at the G-word as he replaced the terrified yucca on the shelf.  

 

“You've been ages,” complained Crowley. “What kept you?”

 

“Sorry, my dear, but the auction for a full set of H.Rider Haggard first editions didn't start till two hours after it was advertised. And you know I couldn't resist.”

 

Crowley sighed. There was no way he could compete with Allan Quatermain and he knew it.

 

“However I shall make it up to you.” Aziraphale promised. “Boeuf Bourguignon for dinner and then off to the Green Man for a little beer and a lot of nonsense.”

 

Crowley's eyes flashed red at the suggestion.

 

“You know I can't resist your bourguignon, angel. It's even better than…”

 

He snapped his fingers as he tried to recall a distant memory.

 

“Oh, you remember that little place in Paris. We ate there all the time during the Revolution.”

 

Aziraphale blushed at the memory. Things had been terribly intense in those days but trust Crowley to remember something so intimate.

 

“I'm flattered, my dear. Now I'll get started if you want to finish up in here.

 

Crowley grinned.

 

“You've got yourself a deal.”

 

*

 

Aziraphale straightened his brocade waistcoat and checked in the mirror to make sure his bow tie was tied properly. The paisley one was a particular favourite of Crowley's, he knew. 

 

Not that that had anything to do with his choice  _ per se _ , but the demon's smile when he walked downstairs to where Crowley was waiting was worth it.

 

“Hurry up, angel.” Crowley insisted. “Or they'll have started without us.”

 

“Started what, my dear?” Aziraphale asked, locking the door with a snap of his fingers.

 

“You'll see,” replied Crowley with a grin.

 

Arm in arm they strolled up the lane and across the village green to the Green Man pub. Instead of the specials board that Mike the landlord usually had outside there was a poster tacked to the door.

 

TONITE!!!! BIG DAVE'S DYNAMIC KARAOKE!!!!

 

Aziraphale stopped short.

 

“Urgh. Not karaoke.”

 

“C'mon, don't be such a snob.” Crowley insisted. “After all the wailing and gnashing of teeth in the Pit, it's actually a relief for my ears.”

 

He tugged at Aziraphale's sleeve.

 

“You promised beer and nonsense.” Crowley reminded him.

 

With a put-upon sigh, Aziraphale followed his partner into the pub.

 

It was fairly busy already and the two of them stood at the bar waiting to get served.

 

“Mr Fell, Mr Crowley! Lovely to see you both,” said Mike the genial landlord. “What can I get you?”

 

Crowley ordered two pints of moderately flavourful bitter which turned into finely-crafted cask ale when Aziraphale took a sip. Behind his tinted glasses, Crowley winked.

 

They found a table which had become miraculously available at the back of the pub and watched Big Dave set up his equipment while his assistant passed out song lists; one for each table which Crowley perused with great interest while Aziraphale sipped his beer.

 

Big Dave picked up the microphone, tapped it and winced at the scream of feedback.

 

“Hello everyone!” he announced. “Welcome to the Green Man and Big Dave's Karaoke! C'mon now, don't be shy. Let's get those requests in!”

 

He was quickly swamped with tipsy patrons waving bits of paper and torn-off beer mats at him while Crowley sat back and folded his arms, a satisfied smile on his face. He wiggled his empty beer glass at Aziraphale. “Get the beer in, angel.”

 

Aziraphale quickly returned with two fresh foaming pints and settled back into his seat, wincing as a trio of young women attempted to sing  _ It's Raining Men. _ He spared a smile for Crowley who was soaking up the chaotic energy of the place.

 

Another pint down and Aziraphale was feeling no pain. He was even humming along to a surprisingly tuneful rendition of  _ Time After Time  _ while discreetly holding hands with his demon under the table.

 

Then Big Dave reclaimed the mike once the applause died down.

 

“Okay, next up we've got a real cracker for you. Anthony? Where are you, mate? It's your turn.”

 

Grinning like the utter fiend he was, Crowley squeezed Aziraphale's hand, stood up and bounded onto the tiny stage.

 

He even looked like a rock star in black skinny jeans, leather jacket and tinted glasses. There were even a couple of wolf-whistles which caused Aziraphale to think very unangelic thoughts. Then Crowley struck a dramatic pose.

 

“Oh, no.” Aziraphale exclaimed, hiding his face in his hands.

 

A familiar beat kicked in and Crowley began to sing.

 

_ Oh, you're the best friend that I ever had. _

_ I've been with you such a long time. _

_ You're my sunshine and I want you to know. _

 

Through the pink clouds of embarrassment, the eternal words of Queen sank into Aziraphale's mind and he looked up and there was Crowley singing for him. And only for him.

 

_ My feelings are true. I really love you. _

_ You're my best friend. _

 

Now Aziraphale was beaming with pride and when Crowley finished with his typical theatrical flourish, Aziraphale's applause was loudest of all.

 

Crowley reclaimed his seat and Aziraphale kissed him;a gentle peck on the lips that made both of them smile.

 

“That was divine,” said Aziraphale, his eyes sparkling and his lips twitching at Crowley's aghast expression. “How lovely of you to pick our song to sing tonight.”

 

They clinked glasses and Crowley leaned in.

 

“I meant every word, angel.” he whispered, a tiny hiss appearing at the end as it always did when he was emotional.

 

Aziraphale smiled beatifically.

 

“Good. For I love you too.” he said.

 

FIN

  
  
  



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